


Siren Summons

by cynicaldesire



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicaldesire/pseuds/cynicaldesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He met her at a night club. Her voice soothed him, called him to her. But that wasn't enough. He needed all of her. His body craved hers. He could wait no longer. And neither could she.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Siren Summons

He did his best to hurry up the stairs to her apartment without appearing in a rush. His fingers itched, but no amount of rubbing them together had done anything to satisfy it. They called for her, screamed. His skin couldn’t contain him. He hurt, ached.

He fiddled with the contents of his pockets as he took the stairs two at a time. A dismal effort to distract him from the pain, the need. Lighter, cigarettes. Keys, cell phone, earbuds. She had gotten him the cell phone, filled it with recordings of her singing. And a few of her speaking quietly. The low tones caused tingles in his head, tingles that shot down his spine, sometimes into his limbs. Sometimes they would circle around to his manhood.

He poked the intercom for her apartment. He wasn’t even sure she had gotten home yet. He glanced into the darkness, at the streetlights far below. Rolled the contents of his pockets again, jingling his keys. She had to be there. He needed her.

He poked the intercom button and knocked as gently as he could. Frustration burbled inside, dangerously close to boiling over.

He heard the chain on the door slide across, the lock unbolt. He shifted his eyes to the door as it opened.

“Shizu-“

The last letter of his name was caught in his mouth as he enveloped hers in a kiss. He needed her, had to taste her, had to feel her under him. He pressed his palm against her cheek, his fingers angled out. His power was barely contained, he didn’t want to break her. He’s too dangerous. The frustration calmed ever so slightly at the moan that filled him as she returned the kiss. She tasted like vanilla ice cream.

Her fingers curled into the lapels of his vest, pulled her body closer. He felt the need rising, the frustration fading. He wanted to know what the rest of her tasted like, needed to hear her moaning his name. He needed her.  _He needed her_.

His hand moved down to the collar of her shirt. A simple t-shirt she wore at home. His fingers curled under it, and he growled. He brought his hands apart, ripping the shirt open down the center. She yelped, eyes widening at him. He couldn’t bring himself to care. His hands slipped around her waist, his lips moved to her neck. She tasted like honey.

“Shizuo~” His name, no honorific, moaned over his head. He grinned, ran his tongue over her honey skin. “Shizuo, I need to lock the door.”

Part of him understood her words. That part slid his hands down to her hips. She wore only a pair of panties, no shorts or pants. He grinned toothily against her neck, gripped her backside, and lifted. She giggled, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. Her legs encircled his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back. He felt her hand shift around his head, heard the door slam. He took a step back, leaned against it. While she engaged the chain and deadbolt, he stepped out of his shoes.

“Okay.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He searched carefully for the step up into her apartment. His arms did not tire of her weight. He glanced through her hair to ensure his path. Her bed was easy enough to find.

She fell onto the bed. He paused as she crawled backward. Her shirt hung in twain, ripped by his own strength. His eyebrows lifted slowly. He could kill her if he continued. He had to control himself. “Lucretia… Your shirt…”

She looked down. When her head angled toward his again, there was a smile. “Shizuo~, it’s just a shirt. I have plenty more.”

He flexed his hands. They itched again. “You aren’t… afraid?”

Her hair bounced with the shaking of her head. “You’d never hurt me, Shizuo.” Her voice dropped in volume and timbre, sending tingles through his body, through his head.

He felt the need burbling again. He removed his sunglasses, tossing them in the general direction of her nightstand. He descended on her, access to her body easier now. A niggling worry whispered in the back of his mind, a reminder that his hands were dangerous, that he could damage her if he were not careful. His large hand found her equally large breast, too large for his hand. He gathered it as best he could and wrapped his lips around the nipple.

She moaned, her body responded immediately. “Shizuo!” He felt her squirm beneath him, tasting the chocolate on her skin.

Why did she taste so sweet?

Her moans take on a melody, his hands carefully and gently teasing her breasts as he suckles her nipple. Her fingers thread into his blond hair, holding it out of his way, gripping his head. The desire shifts; he needs her lips again.

She accepts him eagerly, kissing him with the full force of his desperation. She needs him just as much as he needs her. Her fingers untangle from his hair, shifted to work on the buttons to his shirt.

He pulled away, working on the buttons to his vest. She’s right, his body is right: there are entirely too much clothes in the way. His eyes searched hers, brown into green, as he threw the vest backwards off his shoulders. Her fingers worked deftly to unbutton the shirt. His fingers itched again. She yanked the shirt from his pants and to finish unbuttoning it. He threw it back, off, and she grinned.

“Shizuo.” His name is a blessing, a cherry, whispered in just the right volume to send those tingles through him.

Her fingers dance over his skin, over the sinew of his muscle, muscle that he has never had to work for, muscle that has always been there. He’s never had anyone love him, not in this way. The Saika daughters loved him for his strength, sure, but this woman loved him for more. She had told him before when he had been shot. He watched her fingers move over the scar of his bullet hole.

His brown eyes lifted to her shirt. Her fingers made their way lazily to his belt buckle. Her name fell from her cherry red lips that tasted of vanilla. The need burbled, his fingers itched. His body rocked as she pulled on the belt, the tang of metal sent more tingles through his body, shocking his manhood.

He growled and his hands curled around her shoulders. He pushed her back, a knee rising to the bed. Her fingers groped for the zipper of his slacks. She smiled up to him, a purr reaching his ears. She could feel the size of his manhood trapped within. He descended again, meeting her lips with his.

She tasted of vanilla, sweet and perfect. Her moans hummed into him, a melody that calmed the rage, that allowed his desire to fill him instead. He had better control, but he knew it was fleeting. He needed more of her. He needed to taste more of her.

Her neck tasted of honey, sweet and thick and soothing. Her hands slid around his thin waist, finding the exit wound on his back. His lips moved lower, tasting the caramel between her breasts. Her fingers threaded under the waist of his slacks, under the boxers. He dragged his lips over her skin, over her bellybutton.

“Shizuo.” His name is a chant, a fuel. Her fingers dragged over his skin as he moved further down her body.

He reached her panties, simple pink nylon. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged them down. Her body kept them trapped, allowing him limited access. Her fingers threaded into his hair. He kissed just under her bellybutton. She moaned, her hips wriggling. A grin spread over his lips, running his tongue over the skin. Icing?

He couldn’t get enough. His sweet awakened with every press of his tongue to her flesh. He had to know what she tasted like. The panties blocked him, the last barrier between him and her sex. He wanted to rip them apart, to destroy that barrier, just as he did with her shirt. He had to control it, this lust, this frustration.

He forced his hands between her and the bed and lifted her hips. She squealed, her abdomen tensing as he pulled the panties over the curvature of her ass. He wanted to be worried, he wanted to apologize for his roughness, but she only gripped his neck tighter. He lifted himself away from her, forcing her hands to fall away. Her thighs came together, the panties sliding easily over them.

The panties were tossed absently behind him, the same direction as his shirt and vest. Her feet separated, knees together. He glanced to her face, a flash of lust behind her eyes, a shy smile played through the nibbling of her bottom lip. Her hands had fallen to cover her breasts. They were so much larger than her small hands. Her eyebrows lifted, a question.

He was admiring her. His rage had faded, frustration placed on the back burner. She lay before him, her breasts pink form his affection, her shirt ripped apart, ruined due to his lack of control. He was a monster, he was dangerous. Her lips curved sharper. Her hands moved off, reaching for him.

“Shizuo? Please don’t stop.”

His lust burned again. His hands moved to her knees. She wanted him. He wasn’t dangerous, not to her. He was strong, soft, sweet. She cared for him. She loved him.

He applied a gentle bit of pressure to her knees. They fell open without any further prodding. Her sex lay before him, glistening with her excitement. He could smell her, though he didn’t believe it to be her. Cake?

His hands slid down her silky thighs to her slit. She moaned quietly in anticipation. He had to taste her. He pressed his thumbs against either side of her slit and spread her apart. Another moan escaped her, lighting his passions.

He pressed his tongue against her moist opening and- whipped cream. His favorite. He lapped at her, running his tongue along her sex, forcing out more moans from over him. He couldn’t get enough. He wanted her to scream his name, to consume her entirely. His tongue brushed over her clit and she squealed with delight, her fingers threading into his hair over his forehead. He smirked.

He found the nub again and captured it with his teeth. She whimpered, her hips wriggling under him. He released her slit to loop his arms around her thigh, pressing carefully against her abdomen.  _Keep still_. She moaned his name as he flicked her clit with his tongue. Her nails found his scalp and he chuckled into her.

Whipped cream filled his lips, moans filled his ears, and his slacks were too tight. He needed her to scream his name, to orgasm just once for him, by him, to him. Only then would his frustration be sated. He had craved her all day.

Her thighs tensed around his head. She was getting closer. He felt the need rise, the frustration boil. Just a bit more and she would be his. She would belong to him.

His fingers slid into her easily. She gasped, her ankles met between his shoulderblades. His name became a prayer, a plea. He suckled on her clit, tugging it between his teeth. She moaned louder, her hips rocking into him.

His fingers rubbed around inside of her until she whimpered, until he found the spot that made her moan the loudest, that took her voice from her in pleasure too intense for her to endure. Her body twitched around him, her hips rocking harder.

English drifted to his ears, her first language, and he felt his brow furrow. Her nails dug into his scalp, her body clenching around his fingers. She shifted to Japanese to alert him to her orgasm. He flicked her clit harder, pressed his fingers faster against her insides, and she screamed his name.

“Shizuo!” He growled into her, the tingle filling his skull, his limbs, his cock. The craving shifted, replaced with a new primal need to fill her with his seed.

As her body relaxed, he licked his lips, reveling in the taste of her. He watched the rise and fall of her torso as she recovered from the climax he had given her. Her hands fell to her abdomen as he stood.

“Shizuo.” Her voice low again, another tingle spiraled through him.

The zipper of his slacks moved down quickly, the button popping off when he attempted to push it through. He couldn’t care. His slacks, his boxers, slipped over his backside. He stepped out of them carefully and climbed onto the bed between her legs. She crawled backwards, up the bed, away from him. He clenched his jaw, following her. A fear sprinkled over the bubbling lust; Was she truly afraid of him?

She smiled up to him as she lifted her head onto the pillow at the head of her bed. Her fingers brushed up his sides, forcing a shiver through him. Her hands slipped around his shoulders to his jawline. His eyebrows lifted, the smell of cake filling his nostrils. He could still taste her on his chin.

“Shizuo…” Her fingers curled carefully around his neck. She tugged, lifting her chin. He complied, pressing a kiss to her lips.

She wasn’t afraid. She wanted him, needed him. She had been getting into a better position for the both of them. The need, the desire flashed white hot behind his eyes. He needed to touch her, feel her under him. He squeezed his hands between her and the sheets. He kept his thumbs on her sides, kept a grip on her as her back arched, pressing her breasts into his bare chest. She was so soft. He slid his hands lower on her back, pressing his tongue past her lips.

His manhood met her moist opening. She moaned louder, her tongue meeting his. The warmth, the moisture, the silkiness of her called to him. He was so close now, so close to filling her, making her belong to him. Her moans filled his chest.

Her hips shifted, pressure on the bed beside his knees, moving his manhood closer to her opening. A grunt escaped him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass.  _Take her_.

His tongue pulled back, his lips closed, finishing the kiss with a satisfying smack. She moaned up to him, wriggling her hips. “Shizuo, please.”

He blinked down to her, the lust boiling. He gripped her backside, slipped the head of his manhood easily into her. He moaned with her, watched her eyes close, reveling in the sensation. Everything he had ever wanted, ever hoped, kissed the head of his cock. He licked his lips and swallowed hard.  _Take her_.

“Shizuo, don’t stop!” Her eyes opened, pleading with him.

She would be bruised, of that he was sure, purple fingerprints peppering her backside. He could no longer control himself. He gripped her ass tightly and thrust into her with the full force of his lust. His jaw fell slack, lost in the ecstasy that enveloped his cock. Smooth, soft, warm,  _home_. She moaned, her body twitched around his manhood, and he opened his eyes to her.

“Shizuo! Amazing.” Her lips pursed, a delicate moan escaped her.

Unafraid. She enjoyed it, his force, his strength. His manhood throbbed inside her, his vision blurred slightly. The lust boiled hot under the surface, fueled by her acceptance, her enjoyment, her moans. She could handle him. He didn’t have to control himself.

Her hips wriggled, a whimper moving through his ears. His manhood throbbed again. His lips crashed into hers as he pulled himself out of her. The friction woke pleasures he had long since forgotten, long since condemned himself to never feel. He would have them now, he would take them from her. And she would gladly offer them to him.

He thrust and her moan filled his lips. He kissed her harder, the pleasures sending tingles all over his body. Vanilla ice cream with whipped cream. Her claws found his back as he pulled back and thrust again, and again, and again. He dared not break the kiss; he had to feel her pleasure, her moans with his lips, to transform them into the tingles that rattled inside his skull and shocked his manhood.

He would have marks on his back, marks to match the bruises on hers. And he wanted them. He wanted proof of his conquest, of his lust, his passion. He wanted proof of her enjoyment, of her affection. His manhood throbbed as she twitched around him. She would finish again soon. He quickened his pace.

The pitch of her moans raised, her brow furrowing and knitting against his. Her hands slipped down his back, gripped his hips, clawed desperately at him. She tried to pull away from his lips, tried to find a way to stop him, but he would not be denied. Her hips rolled, lifted off the bed to meet his as he fucked her, changing the angle. She moaned louder, one hand moved between their bodies to grip his jawline.

The muffled scream moved through him, another tingle. Her body twitched around him, tightened on him. He almost gave in, moving with every squeeze of her hand on his hip, with the clenching of her body. He worked with her to extend her orgasm, to slake his lust to consume her. He released her lips only when her body fell limp under him.

She panted heavily, her breasts rising with every breath into his bare chest. He needed to taste them again, to ride the sugar high that she has provided him.

She will be sore, exhausted. He cannot control it, nor does he want to. She can handle it, she loves it, she needs it. His hands slip from her backside to grip as much of her breasts as they can. She moans and her hands find his wrists. A warning, perhaps, one he ignores. His lips find the nipple he sucked earlier and captures it again. She whimpers out his name, her hips wriggling against his manhood. She wants a moment of respite, a moment to recover. He can’t, he can’t. He has to have her, to taste the chocolate, the caramel, the sugar.

His hips move absently, pleasure surrounding his throbbing manhood. No longer muffled by his lips, her breasts teased by his affections, her moans fill the small apartment. He fed on them, squeezed the meat of her breast around the nipple, forcing out louder moans, more twitches. He caught a nipple between his teeth and her hands thread into his dyed hair again.

His name pours from her, more cake filling his nostrils. He wants her to scream his name again, to pledge herself to him. He squeezed harder and she almost climaxes again.

Her moans become melodic, quieter, breathier. The nails against his scalp, that worm their way down his sides, send tingles through him. She brings him closer, his manhood twitching inside her with every thrust.

“Shizuo~” English follows his name, soft words spoken affectionately over his head. The tingles shock his manhood over and over. He needs to fill her.

Her back arched into him, her ankles locked behind his ass, and she rolled her hips to meet his. Their combined efforts increase the pace, the force. He released her nipple and his lips met hers again. The kiss lasted for a moment, his moans, grunts of pleasure forced his forehead to hers to allow him to breathe. One hand moved to the bed to keep him aloft, the other to her face.

“Shizuo. Please, Shizu-“ The last syllable lost to a moan. “I need you, Shizu.” Her voice is soft, more tingles. “I need you to fill me, Shizu!”

His body responds to her request. His manhood throbs, his hips buck hard, and he feels his balls tighten. He empties himself into her, over several thrusts. His orgasm pulls her over the edge with him, and she screams his name again, just like before. Her body squeezes every last drop from him, every last ounce of energy.

He collapsed on top of her, his thin frame supported by her voluptuous one. Her hands stroke his hair, a few thank you’s muttered in his direction.

Several moments pass before he can remove himself from her. She giggled as their liquids pooled under her, but made no movements to clean it up. Her arms and legs moved to allow him somewhere to lie down. He flopped onto the bed beside her and she quickly stole his side for a cuddle.

The itch is gone, the frustration and lust, the beast he could not contain has left him. He stroked her hair loosely once or twice, eyes narrowed at the ceiling.

“Shizuo, where are your cigarettes?”

His brow furrowed. “Pants. Why?”

The bed shook as she crawled over him. She leaned down and he takes in the view. Red splotches betray his violence. His lips press together. The metal of the belt buckle rattles together as she groped in his pockets. The cigarettes are located. She crawled back into the bed to offer him one.

He took the pack and lighter and transferred them to the nightstand.

“Don’t want a smoke?”

He shook his head. “I think I’d rather enjoy the sugar high.” His arm circled around her, pulled her back to his chest. After everything, she still wanted to care for him, to provide for him without his prompting. “I think I love you, Lucretia.”

A melodic chuckle filled his chest with warmth. “I think I love you too, Shizuo.”


End file.
